


Body Language

by hugoslavia



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Argentina 21st c., Political RPF - German 21st c.
Genre: Crack, F/F, I am so sorry, Politics, This is crack, dare I utter a third time that this is crack, don't blame me i'm an american i don't even go here, google translate as flirtation tool, policy discussions at 3 am, shading putin, shenanigans at the 2013 G20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12414183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hugoslavia/pseuds/hugoslavia
Summary: The G20 summit in St. Petersburg, Russia, September 2013.Chancellor Angela Merkel is awakened in the middle of the night by someone banging urgently on her hotel room door.  She assumes it's Putin, somehow trying to mess with her.It's an unexpected visitor, instead, and a highly unexpected night.





	Body Language

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I am so sorry for this pure crack.
> 
> I'm going to reveal my old age and leave an ff.net style author's note. This is fiction, yo. I may or may not know a fair bit about these ladies, but that doesn't mean any of this actually happened. Don't send me to some weird UN tribunal, please.
> 
> Also like...I'm aware Google Translate isn't this effective, and especially not four years ago, but y'know...crack.

The knocks on the suite door were emergency knocks and Angela awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest.

It couldn’t have been a fire.  No alarms were going off that she could hear.  So an issue with security, perhaps?  She stayed quiet and still inside the room, waiting for her instincts to kick in and tell her what to do.

The knocks continued and she grew suspicious.  If it was a legitimate problem, her team would have made it known by now.  If it was someone trying to prank her—but no, that couldn’t be, because the hotel was closed to all but G20 attendees and their staff.

The irritating thought occurred to her.  Putin.  Was it Putin trying to rattle her?  Certainly he must be feeling quite cocky this week, getting to host the G20 in his homeland.  She wouldn’t put coming to her room at 2:30 in the morning and banging on the door past him, not for a second.  Was he drunk?  The pounding was wildly erratic.

She contemplated calling security, but figured it would be best (and, indeed, more satisfying) to put him in his place herself.  She stomped over to the suite door and peered through the peephole.  _What in the—_

She swung the door open, startling the President of Argentina and catching her with her fists up in the air, getting ready for another round of knocks.  She dropped her fists and waved.

“What the hell are you _doing--”_   Angela stopped herself upon realizing two things.  The first was that in her disoriented state, she’d forgotten to behave with appropriate decorum.  The second was that she and Mrs. Kirchner, or Ms. Fernández de Kirchner, or Ms. Fernández—the media still couldn’t seem to figure out what to call her after her husband had passed away nearly three years ago—likely had no way to communicate.  The President of Argentina did not speak much English, nor did she speak German.

Whatever was about to happen would surely be bizarre and frustrating.

“Ms—”

“ _Cristina,_ ” said the President of Argentina, irritated, and Angela breathed a tiny sigh of relief.  That was a start.  A name was a name in any language, and no awkward guesswork would be involved.

Cristina produced an iPhone from somewhere on her person.  She was still fully dressed, at 2:30 in the morning, in the ornate black dress and pearl necklace she’d been wearing earlier.  As Angela was in her pajamas, as one ought to be at such an hour, she didn’t have her BlackBerry nearby.

Cristina furiously typed something, the phone with its sound on clicking away, and held the screen up for Angela to read.

_“I have something I need to talk to you about.  We can use Google Translate.”_

Angela sighed, and pulled the phone out of the President’s hand.  _“I don’t know if I trust the accuracy of Google Translate.  We might wind up insulting each other.”_ She hit the button that reversed the translation from German back to Spanish and presented Cristina with her iPhone.

_“I get insulted every day back in Argentina.  It doesn’t bother me at all.  Get your phone.  This is important.”_

Angela had no plans to fetch her BlackBerry from the desk.  She had to admit she enjoyed snatching Cristina’s phone out of her hand.  One did not often get to be playful at the G20 Summits.

 _“Did you want to gossip about Putin?”_ she typed.

The look in Cristina’s eyes was an unnerving mix of cold and fiery, and Angela decided it was time to stop playing games with the poor woman.  It was abnormally late at night for a casual conversation.  Maybe there really was some sort of emergency.

Cristina typed and typed and typed, her well-manicured nails never getting in the way.  Angela had to scroll down the screen a bit to read the whole reply.  It was strongly-worded, to say the least.  “ _FUCK Putin and FUCK this conversation.  Is there a reason you’re not taking me seriously?  I’m sure that if Barack Obama were standing here you’d be listening to him.  We are some of the only women here and we need to support each other.  You need to LISTEN to me.”_

 _Clickclickclick_ went Angela’s sensibly short, bare fingernails.  _“You are right.  What’s concerning you?”_

The response was short.  _“Why haven’t you legalized gay marriage yet?”_

“WHAT?” Angela exclaimed aloud.  She’d used German to express this, but she was sure the meaning was clear.

Cristina held up the phone and tapped the screen.  _“Why haven’t you legalized gay marriage yet?”_ She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head at Angela.

_“How are Germany’s policies your business?”_

Cristina shot her a glance that was either smug or annoyed.  It was somewhat hard to tell with her.  _“I did it three years ago.  Come on, Angela.  Aren’t you afraid the Americans are going to get to it first?”_

_“Why are you trying to have a policy discussion with me at this time of night?  You should be asleep.”_

_“I do my best thinking when I’m awake.”_ Cristina winked, and hid the phone behind her back before Angela could take a turn with it.  _“Anyway, who do you think you are, telling me to go to sleep?  Even my own mother wouldn’t say that.  Did you know I’m older than you?”_

Angela grabbed it.  _“That has very little to do with this discussion.  I’m saying this because there is a time and a place to talk about my personal feelings regarding same-sex marriage, and this is not that time.  Or that place.  Aren’t you exhausted?”_

_“I don’t sleep much.”_

Angela wished someone would walk by to interrupt the strange exchange, but any person with their wits about them would be asleep at this hour.  _“I am very uncomfortable right now, having this conversation with you,”_ she had to admit.  _“I barely know you.”_

 _“Angela, please!  Don’t pull that shit.  We kissed on the cheek when I visited Germany in 2010.”_ And Cristina grabbed the phone back to add, _“Both cheeks.”_

How could she possibly have remembered that—and more importantly, why had she remembered that?  Angela tried to maintain her composure.  _“That’s a standard greeting.  Anyway, I’m not going to be able to continue this conversation right now, I’m afraid.  Why don’t we arrange a time to discuss this over lunch?”_

The response was fast and came with another wink.  _“So invite me in.”_

Angela gave her an incredulous look.  “What?  No!”  She reached for the iPhone.  Cristina was around her height, but the heels she wore gave her some centimeters’ advantage.  She held the phone over her head, going so far as to stand on her tiptoes.

“Give me the phone,” Angela said.  The English message was undoubtedly clear.

“No.”

“Give me the phone!”

“No.”  And Cristina tapped her phone screen again.  The only way Angela could easily get the phone would be to do something physical, which was undesirable.

“Are you drunk?” Angela cried in exasperation.  She mimed drinking from a bottle.  This was truly absurd, and having to sit through Putin spewing nonsense tomorrow would be hell.

She had gone too far with that remark, and she instantly felt bad upon seeing the anger in the President’s brown eyes.  “Never!” she said, staring at Angela much too intensely.  “Never.  At the G20?   Never.”

And Angela understood _that_ loud and clear.  She sighed.  Cristina calmed down, and wrapped her hand gently around Angela’s wrist.  Her hand was quite soft, clearly well-moisturized.  She tilted her head toward the door and raised her eyebrows.

They went into the suite.

 

Angela _did_ feel more comfortable once they were out of the hallway.  Cristina noticed the BlackBerry sitting on the desk and pointed at it.

Angela did not typically play such games, but this one was fun.  She took the iPhone.  _“It’s broken.”_

_“Oh, you’re fucking with me.  I saw you using it earlier.”_

_“It broke before I went to bed.  Very unfortunate.  I’ll have to find a replacement here in St. Petersburg…”_

_“Hmmm.  Maybe it just needs to be charged.  Let me look.”_

Angela grabbed her arm a little more roughly than she had intended to.  _“You had something you wanted to talk to me about.  Same-sex marriage, was it?”_

Cristina nodded.

Angela beckoned her over to the suite’s couch.  Since she wasn’t in bed, she might as well spend the night in a similarly comfortable place.

_“So.  What did you want to say?”_

Cristina kicked her heels onto the floor.  Angela noticed a small hole in her black tights, over the smallest toe on her right foot.  Cristina noticed her looking.

 _“Formality has its place but it’s bullshit after a while,”_ Cristina typed.  _“You and I should be friends, no?  I looked you up on Wikipedia before I came down here.  You’re a very inspirational woman.”_

_“Why did you look me up?  I thought you were here to talk about my policies.  I am very confused right now.”_

_“Do I have to repeat myself?  I looked you up because you’re a very inspirational woman.  Very exceptional.  And that’s why…”_ Now that Angela could sit next to her and read over her shoulder while she typed into the Google Translate text box, the interaction felt a little more like a typical conversation.  _“That’s why I don’t understand why you are opposed to gay marriage.  I know your government does a lot to care for the well-being of the German people.”_ Angela had seen Cristina’s speeches—she tended to talk tirelessly for longer than seemed typical.  Her Google Translate conversing appeared to have the same tendency.  _“Let me tell you, when the first gay couple in Argentina got legally married—two women, they were so beautiful, the whole thing was absolutely perfect—I felt like I was really doing my job as the leader of my people.  I was caring for them.  It was—”_

Angela didn’t want to turn into a captive audience.  She took the phone.  _“Cristina, I appreciate what you’re saying.  But ultimately, you and I don’t know each other well enough for me to feel comfortable having a conversation about my personal beliefs.  Nor do I think the place to discuss policy is in my hotel suite late at night.  I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.  I hope you understand.”_

Cristina was playing with the rings on her fingers.  It seemed like a nervous habit, and she did not reach to take the phone back.  Angela continued.  _“Please, I don’t want you to think I judge people based on their sexual orientation.”_

“Good,” Cristina said aloud.  Her eyes were very attractive when they weren’t infuriated, Angela observed.  And maybe even when they were.  She still made no move to take the phone.  Her fingers continued to twist in her lap.

 _“If, ultimately, there is a strong enough push for gay marriage, I need to follow the will of the people,”_ Angela continued.  _“I—”_

Suddenly Cristina’s head was right next to hers, her hair touching Angela’s cheek.  Angela interrupted her own typing.  _“What’s going on?”_

Cristina took the phone.  _“I left my glasses upstairs.  It’s hard to read the screen.”_ And she laughed far too loudly for Angela’s ears.

_“So go get them.”_

“No.  Sorry.”

Angela was not in the habit of sitting this close to most people.  _“I know we Germans are stereotyped to be very formal, but even so, I feel like this is a strange way to have a conversation.  Can you just go get your glasses?  You’re on top of me.”_

Cristina took the phone.  There was no longer any space between her and Angela.  _“You were saying.  If ultimately there was a strong enough push for gay marriage.   But, Angela, you never said…what counts as ‘strong enough?’”_

Angela scooted back on the couch so she could see the look on the President’s face.  It was hard to read.

_“Look, maybe you haven’t thought about it the right way, or for long enough?  You must be very busy with such an economy to handle.”_

_“I have plenty of time to think about the rights of my fellow citizens.  I don’t think what you’re implying is fair.  Same-sex marriage is only one aspect of Germans’ rights.  There are many others--”_

_“Angela, you’re driving me fucking crazy.  Do I really have to convince you?  Because I will, I will stay up all night if I have to.”_

Angela was sincerely confused at this point.  Cristina made a lot of noise about the rights of the humble Argentinian citizen, to be sure, but was it really possible that she cared so much about gay rights in an entirely different country that she’d stay up all night discussing it on Google Translate?  It seemed like a particularly foolish thing to do during an important political summit.  The foreign press often reported that she seemed to have perplexing and incomprehensible agendas.  Something like that must be afoot here, something more than just marriage policies…

_“Convince?  How could you possibly convince me when you know literally nothing about me?  What you read on Wikipedia doesn’t count.  Cristina, I respect your intelligence and your…passion…but I think you’re overstepping.  How do you think you could convince me when you don’t know—”_

Cristina grabbed the phone and set it down on the coffee table.  One second she was lunging through the space between them.  The next she was putting her soft hands on Angela’s face, one on each cheek.  And then the next, Angela was tasting Cristina’s lipstick on her own lips.  It was not entirely unappealing.  Nor was it, she suddenly realized, entirely unwanted. 

And, Angela realized a bit too late, nor was it entirely unexpected.

The kiss seemed practical, with little sentimentality.  Angela pulled away after a seemingly appropriate amount of time.  She took the iPhone.

_“Are you bisexual?”_

_“I’m in love with my dead husband.”_

_“That’s not a sexual orientation.”_

Cristina glared at her.  _“Maybe you don’t need to know what I think I am.”_

Angela curved one corner of her mouth up in a strange smirk.  This game _had_ been a good choice.  _“Well, maybe I feel the same way about my same-sex marriage policies.”_

Cristina tossed the phone onto the couch and went in for another kiss.  Her many rings were smooth against Angela’s cheeks.  Angela had never kissed a woman before, but it felt essentially no different than kissing a man.  People were just people.

She found the phone.  It had nearly disappeared between the couch cushions.

_“I don’t understand how this is an effective strategy for changing my marriage policies, but it does seem like a fairly decent way to convince me to undress you.”_

Cristina raised her eyebrows.

 _“I read on Wikipedia that you’re married,”_ she wrote. 

_“I am indeed.”_

Cristina typed something and gave the phone back to Angela.  _“So, how would you like to continue, Chancellor Merkel?  You choose.”_

This was surprising to Angela.  Cristina seemed quite fiery and quite decisive.  Not necessarily the sort of person who’d give someone a choice like this one.  She paused.  _“Please, you can continue to call me Angela.  I…choose?”_

_“The papers, the fucking media, they always say my family and I are greedy.  They have no idea how generous I am.”_

Angela had to be practical about this.  _“Well, no more kissing, for one.  I think kissing can be awkward.”_

Cristina swatted Angela on the arm and took her phone back.  _“Me, too.  When I was younger I guess I was more interested in it, but now I just want to get it out of the fucking way.”_

“Mmmm,” Angela said aloud.

_“What is your husband going to think of this?”_

This wasn’t Angela’s concern at the moment.  It would be a matter for later.  _“That’s none of your business.  What is your…dead husband--”_ What a strange thing to have to type!  _“—going to think of this?”_

Cristina rolled her eyes and sighed.  _“Well, that’s between him and me, isn’t it?  Come on, Angela.  Has anyone ever told you your eyes look like the ocean?  Even in this bad lighting.  What do you choose?”_

She seemed serious.

Angela strategized, as she spent most of her life doing.

_“To start with, leave your dress on.”_

_“Why?”_

_“It’s a beautiful dress, and it suits you.”_

_“Thank you.”_ The President looked genuinely flattered, and she started playing with the ends of her hair, possibly unconsciously.

 _“I think bodies are just bodies,”_ Angela continued to type.  _“They all have their flaws and strengths.  They’re all reasonably average.  In that way, a well-made piece of clothing can be more exceptional.”_

_“I agree.  See, I told you.  We should be friends.  I always know what I’m talking about.”_

Angela leaned back as though she was thinking about what to do next, though the idea had already come to her so suddenly she wondered if she’d been thinking about it subconsciously this whole time.

_“Right, leave your dress on.  Get on all fours.”_

_“Here on the couch?”_

_“I thought you said I could choose.”_

_“Did I sound like I was complaining?”_

And Angela had to laugh.  _“No, I suppose you didn’t.”_

With that, she left and went down the hallway to the door of the suite, double-checking the locks to make sure everything was in place.  Putin might very well have bugged her rooms, after all, but that didn’t mean anyone _else_ had to know what was happening.

When she returned to the couch, she was pleased to see that the notoriously unpredictable President of Argentina apparently followed directions very well when she chose to.

There was something written in the Google Translate text box.  Angela picked up the phone from where it rested next to Cristina’s splayed fingers.

_“Just don’t pull my hair.  I hate that.”_

Angela shot her a thumbs-up, then took the phone and tossed it onto a chair across from them, out of their reach.  For the rest of the night, verbal communication would not be necessary. It was the rare sort of diplomatic exchange that did not need words.


End file.
